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LIBRARY OF flfliGRESS. 



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'UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS. 



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BY 



THEOPHILUS H. HILL. 




NEW YORK: 
PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON, 

459 Broome Street. 
1869. 






Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 

Theophilus H. Hill, 

in the Clerk's office of the District Court for the Pamlico District of North 

Carolina. 



riverside, Cambridge: 

stereotyped and printed by 

h. o. houghton and company. 



.« 



To 
REV. CHARLES F. DEEMS, D. D., 

PASTOR OF "THE CHURCH OF THE STRANGERS," NEW YORK, 
AS A TOKEN OF SINCERE REGARD, 

Wfyz&t \Batmi 

ARE INSCRIBED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 



— ♦ 

PAGE 

Narcissus i 

The Star above the Manger 10 

A Gangese Dream 14 

Love among the Roses 18 

Spring 21 

Hesper 25 

Perdite 27 

The Shadow of the Rock 29 

Willie 31 

Wooed, Won, Forsaken 37 

The Sunbeam 39 

Reveille 41 

Pit and Pendulum ........ 43 

Anacreontic 46 

Dum Vivimus, Vivamus 50 

Dulcamara 53 

Indian Summer 55 

The Sabbath of the Spring 56 

Hope of Heaven 60 

Love 63 

Joy 65 

\g of the Butterfly 66 

The Mother's Prayer 70 

Ode to Sleep 74 

Life and Death 76 

Stella . 7S 



VI CONTENTS. 

* PAGE 

The Light of the Lattice 82 

St. Valentine's Day . 83 

Sunset 86 

Darkness 88 

My Hopes like waning Watch-fires Glow . . 89 

Angela 91 

Hope 96 

Despair • 100 

To L. F. P. 103 

Plea of the Prodigal ...... 105 

Banished Rome 107 

Violets 109 

Fireside Fancies 112 

Antipodes 115 

Proemial Stanzas . . 117 

HUMOROUS. 

A Serio-Comic Poem 121 

Lucile 140 

To a Lady, on receiving Flowers . . . . 145 

Clouds with Silver Linings 147 

Qui Capit, Facit 150 

Taking a Snooze . . . . . . . .154 



POEMS. 



NARCISSUS. 

" Pining with sorrow, Nica faded, died, 
Like a fair aloe, in its morning pride." 

Chatterton. 
" The tale 
Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's bale." 

Keats. 

piNING for the beauty he 

In himself alone could see, 
Wan Narcissus, day by day 
Wasted wofully away : 
Love-lorn Echo, all in vain, 
Sought the self-enamored swain, — 
Calling on his name again, 
And again, until the woods, 
In their wildest solitudes — 
Grown familiar with the strain — 



NARCISSUS. 

Syllabled the sad refrain : 
" O Narcissus ! where art thou ? 
Dost, in frolic, hide thee now ? 
Ah ! tis cruel thus to stay 
From thine Echo all the day : 
Ere the dreamy twilight shades 
Purple all the dewy glades, 
Truant, show thy radiant face ! 
Hie thee to our trysting-place ! " 

Sadly sang the sorrow-laden, 
Weary, wistful, wandering maiden ; 
Swiftly sped the sparkling river, — 

Sped the silvery Cephissus, — 
Like an arrow from the quiver 

Of the beautiful Narcissus, 
Heedless of the tears he shed 
At its far-off fountain-head. 

Bending, till his golden tresses 
Floated with the water-cresses, 



NARCISSI'S. 

He, athirst, had paused to drink 
From the fountain's pebbly brink ; 
He but loitered there to lave, 
In the pure pellucid wave, 
Forehead fairer than the sun 
E'er before had shone upon. 

Hapless child of Air and Tellus ! 
Thou that madest Juno jealous ! 
Seek no further to discover 
Footprints of thy faithless lover ! 
In the blue, inverted skies, 
Star-like splendors greet his eyes ; 
Echo's eye no more may please, — 
In himself, himself he sees : 
When the beauteous phantom first 
On his ravished vision burst, 
He, mayhap, was not aware 
His own face was mirrored there : 
In the crystal depths, alas ! 
He but saw, as in a glass, — 



4 NARCISSUS. 

Lips disparted, cheeks aglow, 
Flushed, for all the world, as though 
Roses were about to blow, 
Which had budded in the snow. 

Ah ! Narcissus, the transfusion — 
Replication — involution 
Of those false and real glances 
Self-idolatry enhances : 
Even should a chance beholder, 
Peeping, unseen, o'er thy shoulder, 
Now essay the true to sunder 
From their simulacra under 
Water, flushing into wine 
With each rosy blush of thine, 
He would die in the endeavor, 
An idolater forever ! 

From the mockery thou viewest, — 
From the fantasy thou wooest, — 
Soft responsive smiles ascending, 



NARCISSUS. 

With thine own too brightly blending, 
Weave a web of subtler tissue 
Than Arachne's loom may issue ; 
Spell whence there is no awaking ; 
Chain there is no hope of breaking; 
Strong as those that bind the gory 
Martyr of the mythic story 
To the beetling, bleak Caucasian 
Crag of an immortal passion ! 

Who may fittingly express 

Such unreal loveliness ? 

Who with truthful touch may trace 

Pictures, vocal of the grace 

Which informs the phantom there ? 
Sylvan gods may never chase 
Nymph or naiad with a face 

So ethereally fair ; 

Never woo to their embraces — 

Three in one — the sister Graces ! 



NARCISSUS, 

Fantasy forever flies 

One who fain would realize, 

Undissevered from the real, 

An indefinite ideal : 

Who may indicate the ending, 

Or beginning of the blending, 

Seven, several hues that shimmer 

In a rainbow growing dimmer ? 

Who unravel opalescence 

In its very evanescence ? 
Who dispart the tints that glimmer 
In the faint illusion kindled 
Ere a real splendor dwindled ? 
Trace upon a sunlit bubble 
First an iris — then its double ? 
Still more futile his essay, 
Who would vividly portray 
Scarce perceptible decline, 

Where the substance and the shade, 

Interfused — together fade ! 
Metaphor may not define 



NARCISSUS. 



Stealth of gradual decay — 
Toying with its tortured prey — 
Growth of shade, decrease of shine, 
Narcissus, in those eyes of thine ! 
Alas ! that one so young — so fair — 
So radiant in his golden hair, 
Dies in self-love, of self-despair ! 

Of Echo, in the reedy lake, 
In the tangled hazel brake, 
In the green hearts of the dells, 
In the hollow ocean shells, 
Only now an echo dwells ; 
And where young Narcissus died, 
Bending o'er the glassy tide, 
Blooms a solitary flower : 
Beauty is its natal dower ; 
Fair and fragile is its bloom, 
Faint and fleeting its perfume ; 
And it ever leans to look 
At its shadow in the brook. 



NARCISSUS, 

Shouldst thou, like Narcissus, guess 
Half of thine own loveliness ; 
Though his fate were surely thine, 
Echo's never would be mine ! 
Shouldst thou half thy charms discover, 

Maiden, peerless as thou art, 
Hope would droop within thy lover, — 

Die upon his loyal heart ; 
Love, though mine, with hope would 
perish ; 

I, with life itself would part, 
Sooner than survive to cherish 

Thee, as other than thou art ! 
Knowing all thou wert before, 
Self thou learnedst to adore ; 
Seeing what thou then wouldst be, 
I no more could bend the knee : 
Love, though mine, would not retain 
Fond regret for one so vain, 
Longer than the fountain kept 

On its bosom ripples made 



NARCISSUS. 9 

By the tears Narcissus wept, 
When, by self to self betrayed, 

In the sparkling depths below, 

He beheld the rosy glow 

Waning on his cheeks of snow ; 

While from out his haggard eyes 
All the light that in them lay, 

Like the tints of twilight skies, 
Faded mournfully away ! 



THE STAR ABOVE THE MANGER. 

/^\NE night while lowly shepherd swains 

Their fleecy charge attended, 
A light burst o'er Judea's plains 
Unutterably splendid. 

Far in the dusky Orient, 

A star, unknown in story, 
Arose to flood the firmament, 

With more than morning glory. 

The clustering constellations, erst 

So gloriously gleaming, 
Waned, when its sudden splendor burst 

Upon their paler beaming : 

And Heaven drew nearer Earth that 
night, — 
Flung wide its pearly portals, — 



THE STAR ABOVE THE MANGER. I I 

Sent forth from all its realms of light 
Its radiant immortals : 

They hovered in the golden air, 
Their golden censers swinging, 

And woke the drowsy shepherds there 
With their seraphic singing. 

Yet Earth, on this, her gala night, 

No jubilee was keeping; 
She lay, unconscious of the light, 

In silent beauty sleeping. 

No more shall brightest cherubim 

And stateliest archangels 
Symphonious sing such choral hymn, — 

Proclaim so sweet evangels : 

No more appear that star at eve, 
Though glimpses of its glory 



12 THE STAR ABOVE THE MANGER. 

Are seen by those who still believe 
The shepherds' simple story. 

In Faith's clear firmament afar, — 

To Unbelief a stranger, — 
Forever glows the golden star 

That stood above the manger. 

Age after age may roll away, 

But on Time's rapid river 
The light of its celestial ray 

Shall never cease to quiver. 

Frail barges on the swelling tide 

Are drifting with the ages ; 
The skies grow dark — around each bark 

A howling tempest rages ! 

Pale with affright, lost helmsmen steer, 
While creaking timbers shiver ; 



THE STAR ABOVE THE MANGER. I 3 

The breakers roar — grim Death is near — 
O who may now deliver ! 

Light — light from the Heraldic Star 

Breaks brightly o'er the billow ; 

The storm, rebuked, is fled afar, 

The pilgrim seeks his pillow. 
• • • • • 

Lost — lost indeed his heart must be, — 
His way how dark with danger, — 

Whose hooded eye may never see 
The star above the manger ! 



A GANGESE DREAM. 

T^REIGHTED with fruits, aflush with 

flowers, — 
Oblations to offended powers, — 
What fairy like flotillas gleam 
At night on Brahma's l sacred stream ; 
The while, ashore, on bended knees, 
Benighted Hindoo devotees 
Sue for their silvery, silken sails 
The advent of auspicious gales. 

Such gorgeous pageant I have seen 
Drift down the Ganges, while I stood 

Within the banian's bosky screen, 
And gazed on his transfigured flood : 



1 "The Hindoos believe that the Ganges rises immediately 
from the feet of Brahma." 



A GANGESE DREAM. I 5 

Around each consecrated bark, 
That sailed into the outer dark, 
What lambent lights those lanterns gave ! 

What opalescent mazes played, 
Reduplicated on the wave, 

While to and fro, like censers swayed, 
They made it luminous to glass 
Their fleeting splendors ere they pass ! 
O'er each, as shimmering it swung, 
A haze of crimson halo hung, 
Begirt by folds of billowy mist, 
Suffused with purpling amethyst: 
From these, still fainter halos flung, 
Lent each to some refracted zone 
Hues of a lustre not its own, 
Till satellite of satellite, 
Eluding my bewildered sight, 
In gloomier eddies of the stream, 
Retained no more a borrowed beam. 
Thus, one by one, their sparkling sails 
Distended by Sabean gales, 



1 6 A GANGESE DREAM. 

I saw those votive vessels glide, 
Resplendent o'er the swelling tide, 
While each, with its attendant shade, 
Or dusk, or radiant ripples made : 
These flashing into fiery bloom ; 
Those smouldering into garnet-gloom ! 

All this I saw, or else, at night, 
Pursuing Fancy in her flight, 
I paused beneath what seemed to be 
The umbrage of a banian-tree, 
And down the Ganges of a dream 
Beheld that gay flotilla gleam. 

It seems to me but yesterday, 

Since off the beach of Promise lay 

The brilliant barges Hope had wrought, 

And young Desire had richly fraught, 

(Alas ! how soon such tissues fade !) 

With fragile stuffs whence dreams are made ! 

Proud owner of that fleet I stood, 



A GANGESE DREAM, I 7 

Gazing on the transfigured flood, 
And saw its constellated sails 
Expanded by propitious gales, 
Till shallop after shallop flew — 
As fresher yet the breezes blew — 
In joyous quest of full fruition, 
To swift and terrible perdition ! 

Some in life's vernal equinox 

O'er desperate seas to wreck were driven ; 
And others struck on sunken rocks, 

Or, in the night, by lightning riven, 
Burned to the water's edge ; while they 

That, not unscathed, but still unshattered, 

Survived the storm, were widely scattered: 
One only kept its destined way, 

To sink — no friendly consort near — 
In sight of port, at close of day, 

When seas were calm, and skies were 
clear! 



LOVE AMONG THE ROSES. 

" In deepest grass beneath the whispering roof 
Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran 
A brooklet scarce espied." 

Keats' Ode to Psyche. 

T HAVE found him ! Here he lies, 

Weary of the chase ; 
Lured by vagrant butterflies 

To this shady place : 
Hat in hand, he ran for hours 
In and out among the flowers, 
Following each golden prize 
With winged feet and wistful eyes. 

He dreams beneath a drooping vine, 
Whose graceful trailers intertwine, 
Weaving above his head a woof 
Of dark green leaves and crimson flowers : 
In vain through this umbrageous roof 



LOVE AMONG THE ROSES. I 9 

May noontide sunbeams try to peep ; 
Here, time is told in twilight hours, 
While " infant beauty " lies — asleep. 
Gay birds and gorgeous butterflies 

Flash through these " purpling glooms," 
Where zephyrs woo, with plaintive sighs, 

The hearts of hidden blooms ; 
Yet heedless of their happy flight, 
He slumbers still, serenely bright — 
Transfigured in the shifting light ! 

The tinkling bells of sylvan streams, 
Which wind around this cool retreat, 

Chime to the music of his dreams ; 
For, sheltered from the glowing heat, 

Their laughing, sparkling waters meet 

To ripple at his rosy feet ! 

Yes ! I've found him ! 
All around him 
Blushing flowers bud and bloom ; 



20 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES. 

Merrily the birds are singing, 
Drowsily the bees are clinging 

(Drunken with perfume) 
To the lilies and the roses 
'Round the spot where Love reposes ! 



SPRING. 

HP HE air is balm, for earth is all abloom : 
The genial skies benignly bent above 
me, 
As yet unsullied by a tinge of gloom, 

Seem, as in earlier, better days, to love me. 

The rugged hills wear emerald carcanets ; 
The woodland-wilds are starred with 
bright oases, 
Where daisies blow, and virgin violets, 
Within the leaves, half-hide their con- 
scious faces. 

The vagrant breeze, now winnowing my 
hair, 
Sways, to and fro, the tender meadow 
grasses, — 



22 SPRING. 

Green in the shade, but growing golden 
where 
The sunbeam brightens when the zephyr 
passes. 

Nature, to-day, would woo to her embrace 
The scanty mite of good that lingers in 
me, 
And, by the witching beauty of her face, 
From wonted gloom to grateful sunshine 
win me. 

I gaze and gladden, though oppressed by 
fear 
Lest cares, now banished, should too soon 
surround me ; 
Put out the light my heart would garner 
here, 
And weld again the chains wherewith 
they bound me. 



SPRING. 23 

My plaintive harp, whose chords of sombre 
tone 
Awake responsive to the touch of sad- 
ness, — 
Attuned to dirge-like threnody alone, 

And mute, alas ! to madrigals of gladnes?, 

In vain essays, in soft idyllic strains, 

To sing of laughing Spring a rhythmic 
story, 

To tell how she has visited our plains, 
And clad them in a garniture of glory : 

How every spot of earth, her fairy feet 
Have kissed, with lissome step, is greenly 
glowing, 
Or how her smiles have thawed the wintry 
sleet, 
And set the ice-bound fountains freely 
flowing. 



24 SPRING. 

I hear the brooks, that babble as they go, — 
Prattling to flowers that blossom on their 
borders, — 
Tell how she quelled her immemorial foe, — 
Wiled from her realm his insolent ma- 
rauders. 

But I may not translate, with tuneless 
tongue, 

The vernal music all around me ringing ; 
For birds sing now, as birds in Eden sung : 

Enough for me, to listen to the singing ! 



HESPER. 

" What time the stars first flocked into the blue 
Behind young Hesper, Shepherd of the eve." 

Thos. Buchanan Read. 

'T^HE brilliant Evening Star to-night 
Gleams through the dusky air ; 
As though some seraph in his flight, 
Through the unclouded realms of light, 

Had paused an instant there ; — 
Had paused and silently surveyed 

The dreaming world below ; 
Then flown away to Eden's shade 

Where " living waters " flow. 
Methinks some bright unearthly gem 
Fell from his flashing diadem, 
For when he winged his flight afar, 

Through the enchanted air, 
A light remained, — the Evening Star 

Shone forth serenely there ! 



26 HESPER. 

Tis thus the great — the good depart, 

And leave a beacon light, 
To cheer the pilgrim's drooping heart 

And guide his feet aright : 

Hence we revere the sage — the seer 

Of every age and clime ; 
Whose priceless gems still sparkle here 

Upon the strand of time. 



PERDITE. 

T^AREWELL forever to the dreams, 
(Alluring dreams !) whose fitful light 
Revealed a land where sorrow's night 
Can never veil the golden beams 
Of life, and hope, and love ! 

Farewell to Heaven ! Why linger now 
In wild regret before the Cross ? 
Tis powerless : Eternal Loss 

Corrodes my heart, — seals on my brow 
The blackness of despair. 

What care I now how long the fire 
Of life within my bosom burns, 
Since Mercy now no more returns ; 

But lets each lingering hope expire, 
And veils her lovely face ? 



28 PERDITE. 

Ah ! what to me is wealth or fame ? 

A sunbeam shimmering on a pall ; 

From some high pinnacle to fall ; 
To leave on earth an envied name, 
And then — to pass away. 

Farewell ! farewell ! I may not stay 

Where Hope's last "rare and radiant" 

flower 
To ashes fell : — in that sad hour, 
The golden sunlight fled away 

And left Eternal Shade! 



THE SHADOW OF THE ROCK. 

" The shadow of a Great Rock in a weary land." 

Isaiah xxxii. 2. 

I OST in Sahara's trackless wilds, in vain 
Wouldst thou shake off the darkness 
of despair ; 
Thou reelest blindly in the noontide glare, 
Athirst and weary o'er the burning plain : 
Long hast thou trod beneath thy bleeding 
feet 
The glowing sands, a fearful death to die, 
While sparkling fountains burst upon 
thine eye, 
And grouping palm-trees spread a shelter 

from the heat : 
Far, far away, beside a gloomy hearth, 
Where feebly now the fading embers 
burn, 
Thy hoary sire, and she who gave thee birth, 



30 THE SHADOW OF THE ROCK. 

Heart-broken wait to welcome thy return : 
God shield thee I hapless straggler from the 

flock, 
And hide thee now within the Shadow of 

the Rock! 



WILLIE. 

Born January 16th, 1863 ; died June 24th, 1865. 
" God's ringer touched him, and he slept." 

In Memoriam. 

PHE things he used to play with 
Lie in the corner there ; 
And yonder hangs the worsted cap 

That he was wont to wear ; 
Beneath his dimpled chin I see 

Its crimson tassels tied, 
And clasp once more with fond caress 

Our " little boy that died." 

I hear the restless rosy feet 

That patter on the stair, 
And now he runs to Mamma's seat 

To nestle fondly there : 
He climbs upon my knee again, 



32 WILLIE, 

Or, on my foot astride, 
I toss the darling of my heart 
Who clamors for a ride. 

The labor of the day is done : 

Home to a glowing hearth 
I hasten, ere the set of sun, 

The happiest man on earth ; 
A mother, standing at the door, 

Looks out, adown the street, 
Elate with joy, as runs her boy — 

His father first to greet. 

Ah, then right merrily we romp ! 

And noisy is our glee, 
For each, to please the household pet, 

Must horse or driver be ; 
He brings " his blocks,'' and begs Papa 

" A church " for him to rear, 
But knocks the fabric down before 

The steeple can appear. 



WILLIE. 33 

His marbles next, and then his ball, 

Till, weary of our play, 
He sups on mother's lap, and folds 

His little hands to pray-: 
And " Now I lay me down to sleep " 

That immemorial prayer — 
In faltering phrases soft and sweet, 

Makes musical the air. 

He sleeps : the fire is burning low, 

And shadows on the wall, 
Like those he wondered at and feared, 

Grotesquely rise and fall : 
Night — rayless night — overwhelms my 
soul, 

And yet, in my despair, 
I sometimes almost smile to think 

There is no shadow there ! 

Tis Summer-time again, and I 
Sit mournfully for hours, 



34 WILLIE. 

And watch the painted butterflies 
That woo his favorite flowers ; 

They hover unmolested here, 
Yet, dreaming of the chase, 

I see the hunter s flashing eyes, — 
His flushed and eager face ! 

How oft I've seen the jocund boy 

Return from garden play, 
His Summer-hat of plaited straw 

With larkspur blossoms gay ! 
The hand that decked it thus need not 

Renew the garland now, 
For seraphim and cherubim 

Twine amaranth for his brow ! 

Strange silence broods o'er all the house 
From dawn to close of day ; 

The little drummer beats no more 
Tattoo or Reveille ; 



WILLIE. 35 

His feathered cap and plaided cloak, 
And broken drum remain, — 

But he who wore them once may ne'er 
Come back to us asrain. 



V &4 , 



It almost breaks my heart to see 

The dog he daily fed, 
Crouch at my feet and mutely ask 

The living for the dead ; 
I cannot harshly drive him out, 

Though keener grief than mine 
Bursts forth afresh each time she hears 

His wistful — piteous whine. 

" But wouldst thou call him back to 
earth, — 

Have him again to wear 
The crimson-tasseled worsted cap 

Upon his golden hair? 
Wouldst have thine angel lay aside 

His diadem of light — 



36 WILLIE. 

Change crown for cross, and blindly grope 
Beside thee, through the night ? " 

11 Ask me no more," l for flesh is weak : 

Our idol was a part 
Of every earth-born hope that blessed 

Mine and his mother's heart ! 
" Ask me no more : " help us, O God, 

This bitter loss to bear — 
To kiss Thy chastening rod, and live 

To find " our treasure," there ! 

1 "Ask me no more, lest I should bid him live : 
Ask me no more." 

The Princess. 



WOOED, WON, FORSAKEN. 

FROM "VIOLA," AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. 

11 And where the Spring-time sun had longest shone, 
The violet looked up and found itself alone." 

Thos. Buchanan Read. 

PHOU art languishing and pining, 

Blue-eyed one ! 
Thou art drooping and declining, 
And thou faintest for the shining 

Of the sun ; 
For the sunbeam came to sue thee, — 
To worship thee and woo thee, 
But to ruin and undo thee 

Lovely Bloom ! 
He smiled but to deceive thee, — 
To blight thee and bereave thee 

Of perfume, — 
Then heartlessly to leave thee 

To thy doom ! 



38 WOOED, WON, FORSAKEN. 

Thou hopest in thy sorrow, 
He will come again to-morrow, 

Nor depart 
(His long delay forgiven) 
To his bright abode in heaven, 
Until his smile has driven 

From thy heart 
The weight which now oppresses, 
And the grief which now distresses; 
While he murmurs, as he blesses 
Thee with ravishing caresses, 

11 How beautiful thou art ! " 
But alas ! thy hopes are failing, 
And thy tears are unavailing, 
For wintry winds are wailing 

As they fly ; 
Thou shalt sleep without awaking — 
Thy heart no longer aching — 
When morning beams are breaking 

On the sky ! 



THE SUNBEAM. 

r I "HING of beauty! brightly beaming, 
Softly through my lattice streaming, 
To my spirit thou dost seem 
Like " a sweet thought in a dream : " 
Linger yet a little while ; 
Still my loneliness beguile ! 

Brilliant sunbeam ! thou dost bring 
On thy gleaming golden wing, 
Life and gladness, light and love, 
From the firmament above ; 
Thou dost change the morning mist 
Into sparkling amethyst ! 

Messenger from realms of li^ht ! 
Thou art beautiful and bright : 



40 THE SUNBEAM. 

How resplendent then is He, 
Sunbeam, who created thee, — 
Called thee from chaotic night, — 
Bade thee sparkle in His sight? 

Shining harbinger of Spring ! 
Earth, for thee, is blossoming ; 
At the earliest " peep of dawn," 
In the woodland, on the lawn, 
Songs of welcome may be heard, - 
Matins of the mocking-bird. 

Welcome ! bright, celestial ray ! 
Where thou dwellest it is day ; 
When thou wanderest afar, 
When I hail the evening star, 
Then, sweet Sunbeam, I shall see 
But a burning type of thee ! 



REVEILLE. 

A WAKE ! Arise ! No longer be 

A laggard in the race ! 
O thou who wouldst thy fellow free, 
Burst first the chains which shackle thee ■ 

Insignia of disgrace ! 

Arise, and muster all thy might ! 

Stand foremost in the van ! 
He who unfurls the flag of Right 
Must march a hero in the fight — 

Must be himself # man ! 



To Arms ! Let sluggards idly stand ■ 
Let cravens skulk and cower ! 
Tis thine to wield a battle-brand, 



42 REVEILLE, 

Whose touch will nerve thy failing hand 
With supra-mortal power! 

In vain may stalwart foes assail 
The champion of Right ; 
For, panoplied in triple mail, 
The true of heart can never fail — 
Are never put to flight I 



PIT AND PENDULUM. 

r^HE poets say there is a golden chain 
Binding our planet to the throne of 

God, 
Whose burnished links unbroken yet 

remain, 
Though earth — no more by shining 

seraphs trod — 
Is swinging madly o'er a dread abyss : 
Should some malignant spirit sunder this, — 
Should this frail chord of sympathy be riven, 
And our lost world, by gravitation driven, 
Plunge through the outer dark, impenitent, 

unshriven, — 
Who could in one wild syllable portray 
The speechless horror of that direful day, 



44 PIT AND PENDULUM. 

When light first wings its everlasting flight, 
And the lost plummet sounds the ghastly 
gloom of night ? 

A soul whose prayers, like incense from the 

sod 
When flowers awaken with the dawn of 

Spring, 
Arose in child-like earnestness to God, — 
Whose covert was the shadow of His 

wing; 
Who bore the cross, — caught glimpses of 

the crown, 
But growing weary, laid his burden down ; 
Who clung in safety to a golden chain, 
Endued with strength the feeblest to sustain, 
While they in God an humble trust retain ; 
But who, alas ! in an unguarded hour, 
Insanely yielding to the tempter's power, 
Bade hope for all futurity farewell, 
And fell to fathom an apostate s hell, — 



riT AND PENDULUM. 45 

Who — who but he may, in one word, por- 
tray 
The tongueless terror of that awful day, 
When light first wings its everlasting flight, 
And the lost plummet sounds the sullen 
gloom of night ? 



ANACREONTIC. 

11 1 awoke the next morning with an aching head and feverish 
frame. Ah, those midnight carousals, how glorious they would 
be if there were no next morning ! " Pelham. 

" An angel would be all the better for a good night's carouse in 
honest Moritz's wine-cellar; even to the ruffling of some of , his 
feathers. What a sorry appearance though would the dreadful 
next morning bring ! " Kimball's St. Leger. 



F! 



TLL up! fill up! 
The poison-cup 
With Lethe to the brim; 
I yearn — I pine — I faint — I thirst 
To see the brilliant bubbles burst 
Around its rosy rim : 
Then let me drain 
The bowl again, 
And fill it up once more ; 
For fearful phantoms haunt my brain, 
And at the open door 



ANACREONTIC. 47 

A ghastly group of fiends appear — 
Their hollow laughter racks my ear ; 
See ! how malignantly they leer 

Upon the wreck they Ve made : 
They little care that honor, wealth, 
And home, and happiness, and health 

Are blighted and betrayed ! 

Fill up ! fill up ! 
The sparkling cup ; 
It is with Lethe fraught ! 
It drowns reflection, palsies thought, 

Binds Memory in chains, 
And bids the hot blood leap and dart, 
Like molten lava from my heart 
To fire the sluggish veins ! * 

Fill to the brim and I will drink, 
" To Memory and Thought, 
Eternal Death." — For O, to think 

1 " These were days when my heart was volcanic." — Poe's 
Ulalume. 



48 ANACREONTIC. 

Is with such horror fraught — 

That hell would be 

A heaven to me 

Were Memory no more ! 

Aye ! could I never think again, — 

Never the past deplore, — 

I should no longer here remain ; 

For hell can have no penal pain, 

In all its fiery domain, 

So fearful unto me, 

As the scorpion-sting 

Of that terrible thing 

Which we call Memory ! 
• • • • • 

To dream of all that I am now, — 

Of all I might have been ; 
The crown of thorns upon my brow, — 

The gnawing worm within ; 
Of all the treasures I have lost, 
Like leaves autumnal, tempest-tost, — 
Of sunbeams into clouds withdrawn, 



ANACREONTIC. 49 

Their momentary sparkle gone, — 

Of murdered hope, and blighted bloom — 

God ! how horrible my doom ! 

Yet fill, fill up! 
The crimson cup 
With frenzy to the brim ! 

1 wildly burn — I madly thirst 
To see the blushing bubbles burst 

Around its ruby rim ! 



"DUM VIVIMUS, VIVAMUS." 

" Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." 

St. Matt. vi. 34. 

T7ARTH is not an El Dorado, 

Nor is life a Summer-day; 
Every sunbeam hath a shadow 

Chasing it away, — 
Frail ephemera that perish, — 

Doomed to disappear ; 
Those we love, caress, and cherish, 

May not linger here : 
Pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow, 

Here, alternate, come and go : 
Which of these we'll have to-morrow, 

Who may ever know ? 

Gather flowers — blushing flowers — 
Which, at present, blow; 



" BUM V1VIMUS, VIVAMUSr 5 I 

Leave the buds, they are not ours, — 

They for others grow. 
If it now be pleasant weather, 

Let us merry be ; 
Let us laugh and sing together, 

Nor repress our glee 
By vain speculations whether, 

In the future, we 
Shall be gloomier or gladder ; 

Be that as it may, 
Such reflections overshadow 

Beautiful " To-Day ! " 

Fretting — murmuring — repining 

Darkens every sorrow, 
With unconscious fingers twining 

Cypress for the morrow : 
Then remember, Love — remember 

In thy darkest day, 
That the drearier December, 

Brighter is the May ! 



52 "DUM VIVIMUS, VIVAMUS." 

Earth is not an El Dorado, 
Nor is life a Summer day ; 

Every sunbeam hath a shadow 
Chasing it away ! 



DULCAMARA. 

/^\FT when the sunlight's golden gleam 

Has died upon our sorrow, 
We sink in sleep, — perchance to dream 
Of happiness to-morrow. 

We fain would banish thoughts of ill, 

Or smile at their intrusion ; 
And oft deluded, fondly still 

Cling to each sweet illusion. 

Dawn brings no day, and Spring no bloom, 

Earth seems a sad Sahara ; 
Till Hope returning gilds the gloom 

And leads to — wells of Marah ! 

Yet is it not far better thus 

To yield to her beguiling ? 



54 DULCAMARA. 

How dark were all the world to us 
Did we distrust her smiling ! 

What though our castles, reared in air, 

Begin so soon to crumble ? 
Hope is a refuge from despair 

When all their turrets tumble ! 

Then blest are dreamers to the last, 

Who dream not they are dreaming ; 

Their skies no cloud may overcast — 
To them, all is that's seeming! 

But woe to those who wake to weep 
The visions they have cherished, 

And may not find again in sleep 

The phantoms which have perished ! 

One such I know, within whose heart 
Hope has no more a dwelling, — 

From whose dark dreams no whispers start 
Of peace and joy foretelling! 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

(a fragment.) 

PHESE are mild delicious days; 

Gleaming through the golden haze, 

Which around the landscape plays, 

Every object now assumes 

Mellow lights, or dreamy glooms : 

Things once distant now are near ; 

Fainter seem the sounds we hear ; 

Feebler now is Zephyrs sigh, 

And yet lower the reply 

Of the rills that murmur by. 
• • • • • 

High upon his airy throne 
(Girdled with a misty zone) 
Rides the pallid sun at noon, 
Seeming but a brighter moon ; 
Lazily his tempered rays 
Measure these enchanting days. 



THE SABBATH OF THE SPRING. 

" The flowers appear on the earth ; the time of the singing of 
birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land." 

The Song of Songs ii. 12. 

A GLORIOUS change is come to pass: 
An April sky is overhead ; 
Like emerald glows the growing grass, 

And flowers are rising from the dead : 
Renewed — rejuvenated trees 
Resume their leafy liveries, 
And, bursting from their icy prison, 
The golden buttercups are risen ! 

Aroused from their hibernal sleep, 
The jacinth and the crocus leap 
Into the lap of Spring, and bare 
Their scented bosoms to the air : 
With downcast eye and mien demure, 
The pensive snow-drop, pale and pure, 



THE SABBATH OF THE SPRING. 57 

Seems listening to an ardent wooer; 
Later from Winters realm to sally, 
The loitering lily of the valley 
Begins to bud ; and sweeter yet, 
The darling, blue-eyed violet, 
Who — cloistered in the twilight shade 
Which her luxuriant leaves have made — 
By her own breathing is betrayed. 

Above me now the honeyed cells 
Of purple Persian lilac bells 
Pulse perfumes on the wandering breeze ; 
And lured by these, 
The golden bees 
Are come, with hummings of the hive, 
Till every cluster is alive — 
Till all their bells together chime 
With murmurs drowsier than my rhyme, — 

More softly somnolent than those 
That wooed from Hybla's beds of thyme 
And clover-gardens in their prime 



58 THE SABBATH OF THE SPRING. 

The weary to repose. 
At noon — as tipsy as the bees — 

The languid zephyrs lie 
Around these nectared chalices, 

Unwitting how to fly ; 
For O ! the luscious lilac flowers, 

While giving sigh for sigh, 
Breathe opiate balm that overpowers 

The triflers till they die ! 

Blush-tinted petals of the new 
Peach-blossoms lend a rosy hue 
To fields that widen on the view, 
To where — withdrawn into a mist 
Of crimson haze and amethyst — 
The sky puts off its living blue. 

The winged choristers of air 
Are making music everywhere ; 
Ere dawn emerges from the dark 
Are heard the matins of the lark ; 



THE SABBATH OF THE SPRING. 59 

The thrush sings in the hazel brake ; 
The mocking-bird is wide awake ; 
The blithe hedge-sparrow chirrups by ; 
The swallows twitter in the sky ; 
And faintly — far adown the glen — 
Is cheeping now the russet wren, — 

Birds, bees, and flowers, 

Sunshine and showers, 
To grace and gladden hill and plain, 
Bring Sabbath to the world again ! 



HOPE OF HEAVEN. 

" O where shall rest be found, — 
Rest for the weary soul ? " 

Montgomery. 

f~\ THERE is naught upon this earth of 
ours 
The restless longings of the soul to fill : 
We pant for fairer fields and fresher flowers, 
For purer fountains still. 

Our drooping souls, like captive eagles, pine 
To breathe, once more, their native at- 
mosphere, — 
To soar above the cloud, where sunbeams 
shine 
And shadows disappear. 

For what are all the rosy, dazzling dreams, 
The glowing hopes and fleeting joys of 
earth, — 



//( WE OF HE A VEN. 6 I 

Its fading smiles, its evanescent gleams 
Of happiness and mirth ? 

Faint, glimmering moonbeams falling on a 
pall, 
Or lighting up the pathway to the tomb ; 
Wild flowers that blossom on a ruined wall ; 
Oases in the gloom ! 

These are the joys of earth; but tell me 
where 
Are its wild sorrows, its harassing fears ? 
Where are the clouds — the shades of dark 
despair, 
That haunt " this vale of tears ? " 

O, where shall rest be found ? — a stormy tide 

Is rushing madly onward to the sea, 
Immortal spirits down the current glide 
Into Eternity. 



62 HOPE OF HEAVEN. 

Thrice happy he, to whom the change of 
time 
And tide may leave one solitary rock, — 
An Ararat, eternal and sublime, 
Unshaken by the shock ; 

A Hope of Heaven, whose summit in the 
skies 
(The only refuge of a ruined race) 
Smiles through the storm — the swelling 
surge defies, 
And stands — a resting-place ! 



LOVE. 

" Love is a lamp unseen 
Burning to waste, or, if its light is found, 
Nursed for an idle hour, then idly broken." 

N. P. Willis : Parrhasius. 

\T OT so ! Not so ! Love's lamp is not 

unseen ; 
It never burns to waste, is never quenched : 
His is a vestal lamp, whose virgin flame 
Illumes the dark with pure and steady glow ; 
And should its feeblest scintillation fall, 
It would not lie unheeded where it fell, — 
It might not perish there, or otherwhere ; 
For Love, coeval with the throne of God, 
Is coexistent with Eternal Life ! 

Love moves on earth — a page in Beauty's 

train ; 
He follows her, — a rapt idolater, — 



64 LOVE. 

Gloats on her glances, feeds upon her 

smiles, 
Lights, with his lamp, her pathway through 

the dark, 
And keeps a lonely vigil while she sleeps ; 
He only knows her worth, and spies in her 
A thousand graces others may not see : 
Beauty would live for him — He die for 

her ; 
They cannot breathe apart; they came 

from Heaven, 
Heirs of immortal life ; and when at length 
She vanishes from earth, he flies with her. 
They seek together undiscovered lands ; 
They float, like Summer-birds, on halcyon 

plumes, 
To blend the myrtle with the orange- 
flower, — 
To build, in brighter climes, their bridal 

bower ! 



JOY. 

" The laughing Hours before her feet 
Are scattering spring-time roses." 

Paul H. Hayne. 

\ 11TITH light upon her rosy lip 

And laughter in her eye, 
Whence came the maiden ? Did she slip, 

With sunbeams, from the sky, — 
Steal from the gate of Paradise, 

When no one else was by ? 
How merrily she seems to skip ! 

What mirthful songs arise, 
As, bounding like an antelope, 
Who (full of fear, as she of hope) 

The baffled hunter flies, 
She leaveth me, alone, to mope — 
A melancholy misanthrope ! 



SONG OF THE BUTTERFLY. 

" What more felicity can fall to creature 
Than to enjoy delight with liberty." 

Spenser : Fate of the Butterfly. 



W/HO is merrier than I ? " 

Quoth the golden Butterfly; 
" In the shining court of May 
Whose apparel half so gay ? 
I reflect each sparkling hue 
Of her radiant retinue ; 
I have kissed the Lilys cheek ; 
I have played at ' hide and seek,' 
Veiled Violet, with you ! 
Who is merrier than I ? " 
Quoth the golden Butterfly. 

ii. 
" I have flirted too, with thee, 
Tremulous Anemone ! 



SOXG OF THE BUTTERFLY. 67 

And the blue-eyed Pimpernel 
Is superlatively blest, 
Should I for a moment rest 

Down in yonder grassy dell : 

Little doth she dream that I 

From her soft caresses fly, 

But to breathe the rare perfume 

Of the pale Magnolia bloom ; 

Or to spend a listless hour 

In the cool, secluded bower 

Of the pining Passion-flower ! 

Blither wooer, who than I ? " 

Quoth the gallant Butterfly. 

in. 
11 When the shades of evening fall, 
Like the foldings of a pall ; 
When the dew is on the flowers. 
And the mute, unconscious Hours 
Still pursue their noiseless flight 
Through the dreamy realms of night ; 



68 SONG OF THE BUTTERFLY. 

In the shut or open Rose 
Ah, how sweetly I repose ! 
Zephyrs, languid with perfume, 
Gently rock my cradle-bloom ; 
Myriads of fire-flies 
From the dewy leaves arise, 
And Dianas starry train, 
Sweetly scintillant again, 
Never sleep while I repose 
On the petals of the Rose ! 
Who hath sweeter couch than I ? " 
Quoth the brilliant Butterfly. 

IV. 

11 Life is but a Summer day, 

Gliding goldenly away ; 

Winter comes, alas ! too soon — 

Would it were forever June ! 

Yet, though brief my flight may be, 

Fun and frolic still for me ! 

When the Summer leaves and flowers ■ 



SONG OF THE BUTTERFLY. 69 

Having had their holiday — 
In the chill, autumnal showers, 

Droop and fade, and pine away, 
Who would not prefer to die — 
What were life to such as I? " 
Quoth the flaunting Butterfly! 



THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

" But he answered and said, It is not meet to take the chil- 
dren's bread and to cast it to dogs. 

u And she said, Truth, Lord : yet the dogs eat of the crumbs 
which fall from their master's table." — St. Matt. xv. 26, 27. 

^RUTH, Lord: it is not meet 

That Thou shouldst give me bread ; 
Yet famished dogs where children eat, 
May on their crumbs be fed. 



" I may not let Thee go 

While I have heart to pray ; 

Nor wilt Thou hear me pleading so, 
And cast me quite away. 

" They say that Thou canst save, 

And I for mercy call : 
No crumbs to me Thy children gave, 

But Thou art Lord of all. 



THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 7 I 

u Vexed by my sore distress, 

' Send her away ! ' they cry ; 
Yet through the murmuring throng I press, 

Low at Thy feet to lie ! 

11 Rebuke has chilled my heart ; 

But Lord, how dare I brook, 
If homeward, hopeless, I depart, 

My frenzied daughter's look ! 

" A fire burns in her brain. 

And fiends torment her soul ; 
All other help I Ve sought in vain : 

Lord, make my daughter whole ! " 

Prone on the earth she lay, 

Clutching the Master's gown, 
And turned her tortured face away, 

Fearing a darker frown ! 

Then all grew still as death ; 
They who had gathered there, 



72 THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

Like her, await with bated breath 
The answer to the prayer. 

A face divinely sweet — 
The human face divine — 

Beams o er the suppliant at His feet 
A radiance benign. 

A voice — a tender voice, 
Replete with tearful grace — 

Bids the poor sufferer's heart rejoice 
Ere she beholds His face I 

In loving accents He 

The woman's faith commends : 
" Even as thou wilt, so let it be," — 

The benediction ends. 

Abashed His followers stood, 
Then reverently made way 

For her of alien speech and blood 
They had despised that day. 



THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 73 

And rugged hands were brushed 

O'er eyes that seldom wept, 
As home that joyful mother rushed — 

Where, lo ! her daughter slept ! * 

How should this story cheer 

Sinner, no less than Saint, 
To call on Him while He is near — 

To pray and never faint. 

To-day, as yesterday, the same, 
He heeds the mourners cry ; 

To seek — to save the lost He came — 
Fly — to His bosom fly! 

1 St. Mark vii. 30. 



ODE TO SLEEP. 

i. 
(~*0 ME, gentle Sleep! and hither bring 

to me 
The beetle's drone, the buzzing of the 

bee, — 
All slumb'rous sounds which Silence loves 

to hear, — 
Which steal like balm into the drowsy ear ; 
Let Summer rain fall softly from the eaves, 
While fragrant zephyrs whisper through the 

leaves. 

ii. 
To every care some sweet nepenthe bring — 
Benumb each sense — bid sorrow cease to 

sting ; 
From dreamless rest let him awake no more, 
Who only lives existence to deplore ; 



ODE TO SLEEP. 75 

Haste ! Siren, haste ! low lullabies to sing, 
Until I die beneath the shadow of thy wing ! 

in. 
Haste, soothing Sleep! bring with thee 

noiseless Night, 
For I would now no more behold the light, 
Since dawn of day comes only to betray 
Hope's brightest blossoms withering away, — 
Unveils before unsympathizing eyes, 
A heart whose woe no masking may dis- 
guise, — 
Cimmerian gloom — Egyptian shadow, now, 
Chase the accursed sunlight from my brow ! 



LIFE AND DEATH. 

T IFE is the tossing here awhile 

On a tumultuous sea ; 
With now and then a sunlight smile, 
Or glimpse of an enchanted isle, 
Far in futurity. 

Death is the closing of the day — 

The lulling of the wind — 
The twilight shades, in sad array, 
Bearing the setting sun away, 
And leaving night behind. 

Life is the never-ending day, 

Beyond the set of sun ; 
The passing of each cloud away — 
One blooming, bright, eternal May, 

Where love and hope are one ! 



LIFE AND BE A TIL J J 

Aye! Death, like Night, bids Morning rise 

Beyond the misty sea, — 
The sun to glow in brighter skies, — 
The soul to dwell in Paradise 

Through all Eternity! 



STELLA. 

" Ah ! Psyche, from the regions which 
Are Holy Land ! " 

Edgar Allan Poe. 

O TAR of my soul ! I saw thee rise 

In trembling beauty o'er a sea, — 
A silent sea, — the past, that lies 
Asleep in memory ! 

My spirit caught the hallowed beams 
That fell on the enchanted air ; 

Nor to Endymion, in his dreams, . 
Were Dian's half so fair. 

Around me hung a golden glow, 

That flushed the amaranthine flowers, 

Whose censers, swinging to and fro, 
Perfumed the midnight hours : 



STELLA. 79 

For Hope, who long on wanton wing 

Coquetted coyly with Desire, 
Then deigned to robe the- meanest thing 

In scintillant attire. 

Cradled in my too happy heart, 
Love whispered in my rosy dream, 

That thou wouldst nevermore depart — 
Wouldst never cease to beam. 

At anchor off the flowery strand, 

Hope's fragile bark — " The Venture " — 
lay, 
And, lured by her, I sought a land 

Of Promise far away. 

At first propitious breezes blew, 
And swiftly from the starlit shore 

Our yacht, a dancing feather, flew 
The bounding billows o'er. 



80 STELLA. 

But now, beneath an angry sky, 

O'er alien seas the wreck is driven ; 

Nor dare I look again on high, 
To miss my star from heaven ! 

Star of my soul ! My Morning Star ! 

Fair almoner of living light ! 
Thy brilliant beams are shed afar 

On other hearts to-night! 

Thou heraldest a Sabbath morn, 
And shinest unto perfect day, 

While I am tossed at sea — forlorn 
Of thy benignant ray. 

Arise and shine ! I pine for thee ! 

Flash through the rifted clouds afar ! 
Earth has no other light for me — 

My sky, no other star ! 



STELLA. 8 1 

Beam — brightly beam ! dispel my gloom ! 

Drive fear and shadow far away ! 
Bid hyacinthine hopes to bloom, 

And Spring forever stay! 



THE LIGHT OF THE LATTICE. 



A FRAGMENT. 



CHE little dreams that I to-night 

Peer out, through the mist and the rain, 
To catch one glimmering gleam of light 
From a far-off window-pane ; 
But the light that shines 
Through the Jasmine vines, 
Which around her casement creep, 
Dispels, with its beams, 
The sweetest of dreams, 
And awakens me out of my sleep ! 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 

TJ IDDEN no longer 

In moss-covered ledges, 
Starring the wayside, 

Under the hedges, 
Violet, Pimpernel, 

Flashing with dew, 
Daisy and Asphodel 

Blossom anew. 

Down in the bosky dells 

Everywhere, 
Faintly their fairy bells 

Chime in the air. 
Thanks to the sunshine ! 

Thanks to the showers ! 
They come again — come again 

Beautiful flowers ! 



84 ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 

Twittering sparrows flit 

Merrily by ; 
Skylarks triumphantly 

Warble on high : 
Echo, who slumbers 

So long in the glen, 
Awakens to mimic 

The song of the wren : 
For, thanks to the sunbeams ! 

Thanks to the showers ! 
They bud again — bloom again ■ 

Beautiful flowers ! 

The mocking-bird, too — 

The sweetest of mimes — 
Is prodigal now 

Of his jubilant rhymes ! 
And my heart is so light, 

So cheery to-day, 
I fancy I hear, 

In his rapturous lay, 



\ 

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 85 

The music I heard 

In those halcyon hours, 
When Love to my heart 

(Like Spring to her bowers) 
First came to awaken 

Hope's beautiful flowers ! 



SUNSET. 

T T OW splendidly those yet unpurpled 

clouds 
Flush as they float into intenser floods 
Of sunset-glow ! Pure fleece becomes pure 

gold — 
Gold that, anon, porphyrogene appears : 
Tint into tint, or flashes now, or fades, 
Turkois and topaz softly interfuse, 
And garnet, kindling, into ruby burns ; 
Until yon Titan-group of thunder-crags, 
That gather gloom to intercept the light, — 
Colossal shapes, thrown into bold relief 
By the refulgence of the Occident, — 
As though convulsed by fierce intestine 

fires, 
Dissolve their solemn league : each beetling 

brow 



i 



SUXSET. 87 

A lurid lustre wears; each shaggy breast 
Is seared and seamed with sanguinary scars ; 
And from a chasm, cleft in their bloody 

base, 
That yawns into the semblance of a hell, 
In long, red, forked, wildly flickering tongues, 
Flames, as from Tophet, leap ! 



DARKNESS. 

A S when, with eager straining eyes, 
We gaze on gloomy twilight skies 
Until we falsely dream that we, 
For one brief instant, dimly see 
The smile of some capricious star 
Flash through the murky clouds afar ; 
So my bewildered heart to-night 
Gropes blindly, seeking hidden light : 
Its mournful introverted eye, 
Now fixed upon a darker sky, 
Would fain explore the mirksome maze, 
Dispel the twilight's misty haze, 
And call to its enraptured gaze, 
From out their petulant eclipse, 
The smiles that shone on Laura s lips. 



MY HOPES LIKE WAXING WATCH-FIRES 
GLOW. 



TV /T Y hopes like waning watch-fires glow, 
Whose lurid flames, though burning 
low, 
Still flicker wildly to and fro : 
They brightly gleam, again retire ; 
Revive and sparkle to expire, 
Yet, loth forever to depart, 
Back to the ghastly embers start, 
And die to leave eternal shade 
Where erst their fitful flashes played. 

ii. 

My hopes are like the hopes that fail 
The seaman shipwrecked in the gale, — 
Unheeded by the passing sail: 



90 MY HOPES LIKE WANING WA TCH-FIRES GLOW- 

As fades the sunlight from the clouds, 
The smiles that hailed her snowy shrouds 
Die on our lips : His drifting spar, 
By raging billows borne afar, 
Perchance may safely reach the shore ; 
But mine — is tossed forevermore ! 

in. 

My hopes are songs a siren sung, 
And flowers her fairy fingers flung 
Upon a rock, to which they clung : 
They bloomed awhile in beauty there, 
Then perished in its Alpine air ; 
And now that rock is bare and bleak ; 
The lichen shuns its haggard peak ; 
And he who haunts the lonely shore, 
Will hear the siren sing no more ! 



ANGELA. 

A S pearls from wave-worn caverns 
brought 
Retain the rainbow-Jiues they caught, 
When, riven from the envious shell, 
They into sudden sunlight fell, 
Receive right royally a sheen 
Their dark abodes had never seen, 
And wear it as a diadem 
Long wrongfully withheld from them ; 
So she — unconscious of the grace 
That more than beautifies her face — 
Reflects the glory looked upon, 
Till light, from introspection won, 
Irradiates — refines the sphere 
Of tender ties that keep her here ! 



92 ANGELA. 

Not of this world, though in it, she 

Seems but a visitor to be ; 

A messenger from realms above, 

Sent 911 an embassy of love, 

Whose sympathies, entwined with ours, 

Would draw us to her native bowers ! 

Waiting her mission to fulfill, 
Submissive to the Master's will, 
She walks the earth a type of good 
Self-abnegating womanhood, 
And tells a rosary, whose beads 
Are loving thoughts and kindly deeds ! 

Esteeming other gain but loss 

Beside the crown beyond the Cross, 

Each day in blessing others spent 

Finds her, at eve, a penitent ; 

Yet priest hath shrived nor saint, nor 

sinner, 
With less of worldliness within her, 



ANGELA. 93 

And all who know her fain would guess 
What one so sinless could confess : 
It may be, that by being lowly 
Her soul, in self-abstraction, wholly 
Forgives, forgets, until the morrow, 
All neighborhood of sin and sorrow ; 
Evokes from purer contemplations 
Sublimer faith, serener patience, 
To tread the thorny path of trial, — 

To lose itself, in alien losses, 
And stoop, nor deem it self-denial, 

To lift and bear another's crosses ! 

Her prayers to every living thing 
Celestial benison would bring ; 
The gentle glances of her eyes 
Tell of communion with the skies ; 
And all along the narrow way, 
That broadens into perfect day, 
Her lips are almoners, whose smile 
Wins through its innocence of wile; 



94 AXGELA. 

For in her soul, benignly blent, 
Above the shrine of pure intent, 
The oriental beams of truth 
Illumine still the dew of youth, 
Divinely sent at dawn to dower 
With priceless pearls so sweet a flower ! 

O ! were there many such as she, 
Elate, aglow with love divine, 
On our benighted ways to shine, 
How beautiful this life would be ! 
1 Faith, Hope, and Charity like hers 
Should fill the world with worshippers ! 
With faces where all graces blend, 
With spirits luminous to lend 
The glory of supernal spheres 
To gladden this sad " vale of tears," 
And make the sin-accursed clod 
A glorious footstool for its God ! 
Then, were the fields bereft of ftowers, 
Through dearth of sunshine or of showers, 



ANGELA. 95 

The winter-blight, the summer-scath, 
Alike would vanish from their path ; 
Birds, songless erst, again would sing 
Wherever they were wandering, 

And, bourgeoning to burst its gloom, 
The arid waste would soon resume, 
As in the genial warmth of Spring, 
The blushes of its vernal bloom : 
Their smiles, their tears might well 

suffice 
To make the wild — a Paradise ! 



HOPE, 
i. 

T) RIGHT hopes blossom day by day- 

Blossom but to leave us ; 
Those that linger longest stay 

That they may 
Still more heartlessly deceive us : 
Yet in sorrows darkest hour 

They have power 
Light and rapture to impart ; 
As the sunbeam to the shower, 

Hope! thou art! 
When thou shinest, rainbows start 
From the gloomy clouds which lower 

Over my desponding heart ! 



hope. 97 

II. 
Hope! those ruby lips of thine 

(So beguiling!) 
Mingle April shade and shine 

In their smiling: 

Why relievest thou my pain, 

But to fly away again, — 

Leaving me alone to mope, 

A repining misanthrope ? 

Teasing — tantalizing Fay ! 

« 
Stay — stay ! 

Hasten not so soon away! 

in. 
Thou art here anon, and then 
Pipest in some lonely glen ; 
Noiu thou hauntest dark morasses, 
Swathed in dank and dewy grasses, 
Far from the abodes of men : 
There thy fairy lamp is lighted — 
Thither its illusive ray 

7 



98 HOPE. 

Leads the credulous, benighted, 
Way-worn wanderer astray ; 
And when he has lost his way 
(Sink or swim) 

In the dark, thou leavest him ! 

IV. 

Incarnation of the Graces ! 

Let me hear once more the sweet 
Falling of thy faery feet ! 
Come and scatter bright oases 
In this gloomiest of places ! 
Hither, from thy far retreat, 
Haste to cheat me ! Thy deceit 
I have never chidden yet ; 
'Tis the cruel undeceiving 
I regret ! 
There can never — never be 
In my heart a shade of grieving, 
Save when thou 
Art, as now, 
On the eve of leaving me ! 



hope. 99 

V. 

Witching Fairy ! Airy Sprite ! 
Must I bid thee, now, " Good night ? " 
And shall my sad heart in vain 
Pine for thee to call again ? 
Promise, that at dawn of day 
I shall see thy plumage gay ! 
Then sweet " Phantom of Delight," 
Thou mayst wing thy wanton flight, 
Bidding me " Good Night ! Good 

Night!" 
If that night — Good night can be 
When I bid adieu to thee ! 



DESPAIR. 

I HAVE naught to hope or dread ; 

All save sentience is dead ; 
Peace, with Innocence, has fled. 

To the gloom in which I dwell, 
This world's darkest dungeon-cell 
Were as heaven unto hell. 

Ye, who yet may hope or fear, 
Shun this sad sepulchral sphere ! 
Rather die than enter here ! 

Each unto himself is fate, — 
Carver of his own estate, — 
Be it blest or desolate ; 



DESPAIR. ioi 

Hence, how soothing is the thought — 
With what sweet nepenthe fraught — 
I have all this ruin wrought ; 

/ with Sorrow chose to sup, — 
Madly drained her bitter cup, — 
Having had — the filling up ! 

Fairest flowers soonest die ; 
Summer-friends are first to fly; 
Memory alone is nigh ! 

Of the many, only she 
Yet remaineth true to me : 
Like the echo of the sea, 

In the shell upon the shore, 
She abideth, evermore 
Murmuring of heretofore, 



102 DESPAIR. 

In my heart — a stranded shell, 
Dashed, by passion's stormy swell, 
On the burning beach of hell ! 

I have naught to hope or dread ; 
All save sentience is dead ; 
Peace, with Innocence, has fled ! 



TO L. F. P. 

/^\ WHEN the dark, tumultuous tide 

Of life is ebbing fast, — 
When every earthly hope has died, 
Thy memory shall still abide, 

An Eden in the waste — 
" A diamond in the desert," where 

A silver fountain sings, 
And birds of summer fill the air 

With merry carolings ; 
A land of beauty and of bloom 
Whence zephyrs, freighted with perfume, 
On wings of woven light, convey 
Somewhat of Paradise away ! 

When all is drear and desolate, — 
When o'er the waters dark 



104 TO L. F. P. 

(Like thistle-down before the blast, 
Or dead leaves on a torrent cast), 
My soul — a helmless ark — 
Is wildly, madly driven on 
Before the dread Euroclydon 
Of unrelenting fate, — 
Then brighter than the sparkling bow, 

Whose sky-born splendors sat, 
Like gems, upon the regal brow 

Of rugged Ararat, — 
Over the dusky waves afar, 
Love's scintillant unchanging star, 
From the fair portals of the past 
A .flood of golden light shall cast, 
To gild the gloomy twilight air, 
And show engraven everywhere 
Thy Name — the first — the last ! 






PLEA OF THE PRODIGAL. 

" I have sinned against Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no 
more worthy to be called thy son." St. Luke xv. 21. 

T^ATHER! from a far-off region, 
Famished I come home to die ; 
Devils — and " their name was Legion" — 
Failed to put this purpose by ! 

I, on husks, no more could hunger, 
Yet I had not left the swine, 

And had died a houseless alien 
But for love of thee and thine ; 

Love that smouldered while I squandered 

All my substance in excess ; 
Love that stung me while I wandered, 

With unlanguaged bitterness ; 



I06 PLEA OF THE PRODIGAL. 

Love that lived, suppressed and hidden, 
Through the frenzy of despair ; 

Love that burst forth all unbidden, 
Voicing bitter midnight prayer ; 

That once more I might behold thee : 
Father ! — if thou yet be mine — 

Let thine arms again enfold me — 

Call once more the wanderer " Thine!" 



BANISHED ROME. 

11 Tell him you saw Caius Marius sitting, an exile, amidst the 
ruins of Carthage." History of Rome. 

A "117 HEN earthly hopes have flown 
away; 
When skies are dark and drear, 
Why should the weary spirit stay 

Repining here ? 
Why, like yon Roman, linger where 
The wreck of pomp and power, — 
The crumbling column, reared in air, 
The fallen fane, the time-worn 
tower, — 
Tell of a brighter hour ? 

The laurel from his haughty brow 

Has fallen long ago ; 
Why seeks the hapless exile now 

Memorials of woe ? 



108 BANISHED ROME. 

Is there a luxury in grief, — 
And do the wretched find relief, 
In feeling that their lost estate 
Is shared, however desolate ? 

It must be so ! A type thou art, 

O Carthage, in decay! 
Of many a noble Roman heart 

Whose hopes are swept away ! 
Low in the dust of desolation laid, 
Well may the fallen seek thy friendly 

shade — 
The exile find a sister now in thee, 
Who art no longer Empress of the Sea ! 






VIOLETS. 

(from "viola.") 

" A violet by a mossy stone, 
Half-hidden from the eye." 

Wordsworth. 

T N unfrequented places, 

Where sunbeams cannot peep, — 
Where Echo's faintest echo 

Is lying fast asleep, — 
These timid woodland graces 

From dewy leaves arise, 
Unveil their modest faces, 

Uplift their beaming eyes, 
Less fearful in seclusion, 
Of impudent intrusion, 

Or surprise : 
Yet each of these recluses, 
While budding into bloom, 



IIO VIOLETS. 

Unconsciously diffuses 

Sweet perfume ; 
For ere they seem aware, 
The censers which they bear 
Reveal unto the air 

Where they dwell ; 
And the breezes, as they blow 

To and fro, 
In sweetest odor tell 
Of dingle and of dell, 
As yet unshone upon 

By the sun : 
They guide, on eager feet, 
To the shadowy retreat 

Of the JVun, 
All who love to stand 
Awhile on holy land ; 
Who feel assured again — 
So long as these remain — 
That Innocence, on earth, 
Yet lingers, loth to fly ; 



VIOLETS. I I I 

Vaunts not her heavenly birth 

To heedless passers by, 
Nor wholly hides her worth 

From Love's observant eye ; 
But waits to drop in death, 

Terrestrial disguise, 

When, with the parting breath, 

A radiant seraph flies ! 
• • • • • 

Alas ! too often we 

Externals only see ; 

Look with disdainful eyes 

On those in lowly guise ; 

Nor know until they disappear 

That guardian angels hovered near! 



FIRESIDE FANCIES. 

"O ING-WORMS of fire in chimney- 

soot 
From single scintillations shoot ; 
Each separate sparkle ere it dwindles 
A wider conflagration kindles, — ■ 
Ignites incendiary tinder, 
Then dies into a sable cinder: 
Afloat, in fiery revolution, 
The riddle still defies solution ; 
For all are always changing places, 
And one, it seems, another chases, 
Itself pursued — until pursuing 
Ends in reciprocal undoing. 
A winged, wanton, wizard rout, 
On glowing feet they glide about, 
Again, and yet again renewing 
Their mazy waltzes in and out, 



FIRESIDE FANCIES. I I 3 

Reluming now their earlier ashes 
With fitful, evanescent flashes ; 
Until, though wintry is the night, 
My Fancy takes a summer flight, 
And sees from out the dusk arise 
A twinkling swarm of fire-flies ! 

Ah ! fleeting, fluctuating fires ! 

He who your brilliancy admires 

Is saddened by the thought that springs 

From tracing your meanderings ! 

As embers ye have left resume 

The mantle of primeval gloom! 

Ye type the visionary beams 

That tinted youth's elysian dreams, 

Or, blent in grand auroras, lent 

Rose-color to its firmament ; 

For all unconscious that I dreamed, 

And realizing all that seemed, 

I wandered then through realms of flowers, 

Or gazed in mute delight for hours, 



114 FIRESIDE FANCIES, 

While life (a new kaleidoscope 
Revolving in the hands of Hope) 
Entranced me — at each turn unfolding 
New beauties to a new beholding ! 



ANTIPODES. 

/^ N those dismal Polar plains, 

Where relentless Winter reigns, - 
Where, amid eternal snow, 
Dwell the squalid Esquimaux, — 

When morning awakes 

And laughingly shakes 
The light from her luminous hair, 

How bright are the beams 

Which scatter the dreams 
Of the shivering slumberers there ! 

When the sleepers arise, 
How sweet the surprise 
Of radiant skies, 
Whence Aurora exiles 
With her scintillant smiles, 



1 1 6 ANTIPODES. 

The gloom of an Arctic night! 
Yet O ! there are times, 
In sunnier climes, 
When shadow is sweeter than light, ■ 
When weary of day, 
And sick of its shine, 
We languish and pine 
For its passing away ! 



PROEMIAL STANZAS 

TO A POEM RECITED BEFORE THE " LADIES' MEMORIAL 
ASSOCIATION" OF RALEIGH, N. C, AUGUST, 1867. 

T F aught that I have ever said or sung 

May cause one more memorial flower to 

bloom 

Where plaintive harps, on Southern willows 
hung, 

Wail, Memnon-like, amid perpetual 

gloom ; 

Where, bowed with bleeding heart and eye 
of stone, 
The South, a nobler Niobe, appears, 
Murmurs, with quivering lips, " Thy will be 
done ! " 
And seeks relief from agony, in tears ; 



I I 8 PROEMIAL STANZAS. 

If when her trembling hands, unclasped 
from prayer, 
Begin the light of votive flowers to shed, 
Exhaling sweets — illumining the air 

Above the graves of her Confederate 
Dead, 

She chance to touch and haply intertwine, 
Mid flowers of balmier breath and happier 
hue, 

A daisy or forget-me-not of mine, 

That erst, unnoticed, by the wayside grew; 

This — this would be far dearer than the 
meed 

Of praise awarded to the festive strain, 
Blown from a pipe of Carolina reed, 

Which, at your bidding, I awake again ! 



HUMOROUS. 



A SERIO-COMIC POEM. 

DELIVERED BEFORE THE PITTSBORO SCIENTIFIC ACAD- 
EMY, 1867. 

T N the moonshiny matter of " wooing the 

Muses," 
A poet may do pretty much as he chooses ; 
He may woo one or two, or, if he design 
To make * a ten-strike,' in the rhythmical 

line, 
He may ogle and flatter the whole of " the 

Nine!" . 
Still, I must confess I have never had any 
Reason to think /could manage that many ; 
For, though I have often addressed them in 

rhyme, 
They always have jilted me, one at a time ! 



122 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. 

A short time ago, when I undertook 

To give to my Muse a serious look, — 

Besought her, with all that I knew of per- 
suasion, 

To behave herself well on the present occa- 
sion, 

And bade her assume the sober demeanor, , 

Befitting this presence, — I wish you had 
seen her! 

In the mouse-colored robe of a feminine 
Quaker, 

And wearing the bonnet best known as " a 
Shaker " — 

With a pout on her lip, an arch gleam in 
her eye, 

As irresolute whether to laugh or to cry, 

She endeavored to mimic the drawl of her 
teacher, 

To talk like a book, and to prose like — a 
preacher ! 

I tell you 'twas no easy task to persuade her 



A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 2 3 

To wear, at rehearsal, the dress I had made 
her, 

And it soon became very apparent to me, 

Euterpe and I would never agree. 

She pertly suggested that best-behaved folks 

Paid smallest regard to conventional yokes ; 

That a girl might be playful, without being 
rude; 

"I am weary," she added, " of playing the 
prude : 

A Muse should amuse ; will I be amusing, 

If I take the monotonous tone you're choos- 
ing. 

And twist into rhyme a prosaic oration ? — 

Is this your idea of Euterpe's vocation ? 

Well, sir ! cuddle your whim and cudgel 
your brains, 

While a glimmer of sense in your noddle 
remains ; 

Sit up late every night, and be stirring be- 
times, — 



124 A SERIO-COMIC POEM, 

Have 'Walker' at hand, for 'allowable 

rhymes : ' 
May your ear be displeased with the count 

of your fingers, 
While the ghost of a tune in your memory 

lingers ; 
May the best line you write find only a fellow 
Too seedy to purchase Pope's patent pru- 
nella ; 
May others accord with the general jingle, 
Like water with oil, — refusing to mingle, — 
And, ' married, not mated,' despite all your 

trouble, 
Deny they had ever intended to double ! 
I have told you before, and I tell you again, 

sir, 
If / sing, it shall be in a different strain, 

sir: 
I shall reel, if I choose, in the dizziest 

dances, 
And give a loose rein to my frolicsome 

fancies ; 



A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 25 

Then, you, at the close, 

May whine through your nose, 

A few of your humdrum, heavy-weight 

stanzas, 

As foils for my exquisite extravaganzas ! " 
• • • • • 

" Why should I appear in this primitive 

dress, 
Take my hair out of curl, and primly repress 
The humor within that impels me to sing — 
As a mocking-bird does — for the fun of the 

thing ! 
You know very well, that you never, sir, 

never ! 
Have written a line that was passably clever, 
When — deeming yourself another Apollo — 
You refused absolutely my bidding to 

follow!" 

Matters grew worse and worse ; 
/ was firm — She perverse ; 



126 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. 

At length the young lady declined to re- 
hearse, 

And crying aloud, as if fit to break her 

Heart, she declared the Furies might take 
her, 

The Graces disown, and her sisters forsake 
her; 

But Jupiter Tonans y himself, couldn't make 
her 

Put on any more that horrible " Shaker ! " 

A day or two later, Euterpe repented, — 
At least, I may say that she half-way re- 
lented ; 
For when I had wasted much of my time 
In drearily scratching my head for a rhyme, 
That lady, impelled by remorse or com- 
passion, 
Bounded in, all ablaze in the tip of the 

fashion ! 
I would not again awaken her ire 



A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 27 

By describing minutely her brilliant at- 
tire, 
Nor could, if I would, however expert ; 
For the fan in the hand of the exquisite 

flirt, — 
The pendulous swing of her balancing 

skirt, — 
The grace of her walk, 
And the way she did talk, 
And her musical laugh, all taken together, 
Bewildered me so, that I couldn't tell 

whether 
Of sunshine or moonshine her raiment was 

made ; 
Suffice it to say — though she dazzled my 

sight — 
I am fully convinced the colors were right ; 
For, whoever blended the light and the 

shade, 
Euterpe's too fast, for them ever to fade! 



128 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. 

If I rightly remember, her head had upon it 
That next thing to no thing — " a love of a 

bonnet." 
It was sent, she assured me, directly from 

Paris, 
Per Cable Atlantic, by one Mrs. Harris, 
Who flirted and fluttered in Vanity Fair, 
Or flaunted her feathers in Madison Square, 
A few years ago, 
With a lady you know, 
Who claimed all the pity the city could 

spare, 
Because she (poor woman!) had "nothing 

to wear ! " 
But this, by the way: I was just on the eve 
Of grieving, as only a poet can grieve, 
If the muse of his heart be taking her leave, 
When I suddenly spied what made the im- 
pression 
That led me so far in the path of digression : 
My verdancy may be refreshingly vernal ; 



A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 29 

But again I digress, to observe it resembled, 
'Mid the gauze and the gewgaws that over it 
trembled, 
In shape and in size, an outside internal 
Revenue stamp, tied down to her head 
By the filmiest sort of a gossamer thread ! 

With dolorous sigh, 
Almost ready to cry 
At having to bid the dear creature good- 

by, 
I was turning away to conceal my emotion, 
Lest her head should be turned, 
And I should be spurned, 
For displaying an extra amount of devotion, 
When, delaying a moment her final de- 
parture, 
With the accurate aim of a Parthian archer, 
She flung at my head the original verses, 
Which now at her bidding, your poet re- 
hearses ! 
9 



I 30 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. 

" Look at me, my friend, and directly de- 
clare 
The manifold charms of the toilet I wear: 
Retract your assertions, your errors confess, 
And own that Euterpe, in matters of dress, 
Displays a degree of decided good taste, 
As superior to yours as a diamond to paste ! 
Learn, sir, that this mass of illusion and 

roses, — 
My bonnet, — this truth, if no other, dis- 
closes : 
That only a woman may fitly combine 
Intellectual endowments exalted as mine 
With matters domestic and every-day duties, 
Extracting from each its appropriate beau- 
ties ; 
Can fashion, with consummate talent and 

tact, 
An exquisite union of fancy and fact, 
Contriving with womanly wisdom to find 
The perfect proportion of matter and mind ! 



A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 3 I 

"Imprimis, this evident moral I draw 
From my ' love of a bonnet ' — your 

1 Shaker ' of straw: 
Though lorcj of the law, and king of creation, 
Man's mind is a bedlam of hallucination 
Where woman's concerned; so that sensi- 
tive creature, 
Endowed with a learning no logic can teach 

her, 
Strikes straight to the root of a subject, and 

finding 
The knot, which her freedom of action is 

binding, 
Too tough for her delicate hands to undo it, 
With the blade of her wit cuts a passage 

clear through it. 
Her lord — he may swell, 
And attempt to dispel 
The feminine fancies no reason may quell, 
But never can he, with his uttermost skill, 
Stop woman from following the way of her 

will ! 



132 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. 

Philosophy, then, and self-interest teach, 
Attempt not to gain what is out of your 

reach : 
Tell your Pittsboro' friends, as they value 

their ease, 
To be dainty in dealing with delicate Sizes — 
And remember to let them do just as they 

please ! 
Never argue with woman, — wife, sweet- 
heart, or sister, — 
But humor her fancies, and gently enlist her 
Sympathies first ; for the sensible part 
Of a man is his head ; of a woman — her 

heart ! 
Boast then of the victories won from your- 
selves ; 
Be only too glad when the obstinate elves 
Their wills to your wishes can quietly yield ; 
And remember that they, like the beasts of 

the field, 
Know not their own strength ; for were they 
to dream 



A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 33 

What power they possess — they would soon 

be supreme ; 
Men — monarchs, at once, from their thrones 

would be hurled, 
And the bandbox — the bandbox would £Ov- 

ern the world ! 

" Would you learn by what magic my sex is 

controlled ? 
Bend your ear, my dear Poet, and let me 

unfold 
The wonderful secret ; but lest you abuse it, 
First solemnly promise me never to use it, 
Unless it be needed for self-preservation 
Or to save from a shrew some worthy re- 
lation : 
Hold your breath, while the mystical words 

I impart, — 
1 To conquer a woman, creep into her heart /' 
Once snugly ensconced in that delicate thing, 
She will hail you triumphant, an absolute 
king, 



134 A SERIO-COMIC POEM, 

And deem life itself an oblation scarce meet 
To be laid by her love at your idolized feet! 

" Yet do not suppose it in every man's power 
To gain for himself so peerless a dower 
Of perfect devotion : there may be a few 
Of the sex, who, as blind as Titania, do 
As ridiculous things — love a snob, or a 

fool — 
And fill with musk-roses the ears of — a 

mule ! 
Yet trust me, that he, who a hero would 

stand 
In the heart of a woman, must wholly com- 
mand 
Her reverence due — not won by deceit: 
All other foundation is treacherous sand; 
But tempests may blow and billows may 
beat 
On immutable honor's immovable rock, 
And the nests of true lovers feel never a 
shock ! 



A SEKIO-COMIC POEM. I 35 

"What grandeur — what glory we women- 
folk scan 

In our ideal Beau — beau-ideal of Man ! 

Not the hybrid that fashion and folly have 
made, 
Compounded of idleness, ignorance, pride, 

In the strength of a pitiful weakness arrayed, 
And to falsehood and cowardice fitly al- 
lied ; 

Not the creature of essences, ogles, and airs, 

All eye-glass and impudence, simpers and 
stares, 

That minces along with the stealth of a cat, 

Its whole soul absorbed in its flashy cravat, 

Preferring creation in chaos should crash 

To losing one sprout from its scanty mous- 
tache ; 

Viewing woman, ' as wathaw a n<?ice little 
thing — 

But really pon honor the bother they 
bzcing ; 

When a felW/ ^ets tired, as a kUa/i must do, 



I36 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. 

She 's a regular bore, and a hor-ze/ible 
shee/ew ! ' 

Not the tyrant, who tramples the modest and 
lowly, 

Nor the skeptic, who sneers at whatever is 
holy; 

Not the drunkard, who drowns in the poison- 
ous bowl 

The spark of divinity lighting his soul ; 

Not the coward, who shirks either danger or 
duty, 

Nor the gambler, who sees in all nature no 
beauty 

Compared with the charms, which enrap- 
tured he traces 

In a winning arrangement of bowers and 
aces ; 

But Man, as he came from the fingers of 
God, 

When creation crouched calm at his con- 
quering nod ; 



A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 37 

With a soul, like a star, that triumphantly 

towers, 
And a mind that so uses its talents and 

powers 
That the world is made brighter, and purer, 

and led 
Ever onward and upward life's pathway to 

tread ! — 
Man — with heart as unsullied in age as in 

youth, 
And a brow that is stamped with the signet 

of truth ; 
With a name like a sword without tarnish 

or rust, 
And a faith that inspires such absolute trust 
That woman — true woman — surrenders 

her soul, 
And resigning her will to his kingly control, 
Exults in his tenderly bountiful sway, 
And deems it both duty and bliss to obey ! 



I38 A SERIO-COMIC POEM. 

" I have proved my position : my verses are 

ended, 
Should your friends by my plainness of 

speech be offended, 
Just tell them for me, that you only quote it, 
And refer them forthwith to the woman who 

wrote it! 
To you, sir, I've tendered the amplest 

amends ; 
And I trust we shall always be excellent 

friends. 
Take my lute in your fingers ; touch boldly 

each string, 
And then, in your own graver melody, sing 
The charms intellectual, celestial, and human 
That make up the meed of perfection in 

woman ; 
I can't give my hat in exchange for your 

sonnet, 
But do my sex justice, and here is my 

bonnet! " 



A SERIO-COMIC POEM. I 39 

Young Ladies: as worthy of all imitation, 

To you I present an ideal creation; 

A woman I dreamed of, and found it would 

take 
One Poet, three Graces, nine Muses to 

make ! 
I have blended each charm that I fancied 

peculiar, 
In my bachelor-days, to Fanny and Julia; 
I stole, in my vision, from Sally and Kate 
Every tenderly beautiful feminine trait, 
And, " taking a smile," and a blush that* were 

pretty, 
Made plainer the faces of Rose and of 

Betty : 
Combining all these, at length I have made a 
Dear little woman ! — a model young lady 
Take her home to your hearts, — then 

charmingly real, 
She will live in your lives, no longer ideal ! * 

1 The rest of this poem appears on page 91, under another title. 



LUCILE. 



A PARODY. 



r^EAR Edwards: If parts of this letter 

appear 
Rough of style, and uncouth to your critical 

ear, 
I guilty must plead, and can only appeal 
To the fact, in excuse, that I'm reading 

"Lucile," — 
Young Bulwer's fine poem, — and lo ! there 

are traces 
Of most of its faults and none of its graces ; 
To-day, in whatever my muse is inditing, — 
In the letter of love I may hap to be writing 
To Chloe or Chloris, to Phoebe or Phillis — 
Undreamed of, of course, by my fair 

Amaryllis ; 



LUCILE. 141 

In the glee or the dirge ; in the ode or the 

sonnet, 
As becoming to each as an old-fashioned 

bonnet 
To Eve would have been on the eve of " the 

Fall," — 
" The trail of the serpent is over them all ! " 

The style of " Lucile " is a whimsical style ; 
But its oddness soon ceases to summon a 

smile, 
And often provokes impatient perusers 
To throw it aside, and thus become losers 
Of beautiful thoughts almost lost in express- 
ing. 
Like — canvas-back ducks overdone in the 

dressing ; 
Or, like radiant flowers that shrink in the 

shade 
Their luxuriant leaves around them have 

made, 



142 LUCILE. 

The light of whose beauty he never per- 
ceives 

Who's too laggard or listless to turn over 
the leaves : 

Words often, like leaves, either dwarf or 
conceal 

The blossoms of thought they were meant 
to reveal. 

If you never have read this poem, I'm sure 
A copy, at once, you will seek to procure ; 
And I'm equally confident, ere you are done, 
You will think there is something " new 

under the sun ; " 
You will praise the new thoughts, confound- 
ing the verse, 
Which, in parody now, Fm afraid to rehearse, 
Lest a Babel of tongues break forth into 

curses, 
Confounding my thought, as well as my 
verses ! 



LUCILE. 143 

In the midst of a line, "Owen Meredith" 

stops his 
Pegasus, 1 as though he beheld Thana- 

topsis ; 2 
Anon, he goes on with the rush of a river, 
In a hurry its tribute of waves to deliver 
To the ocean that fumes, and chides its 

delay, 
As a creditor frets at mere promise to pay ; 
Ere you read half a page, you pause, half in 

doubt 
As to whether you know what you're read- 
ing about ; 
You ponder perplexed — go again and again 
O'er the " Pons Asifiorum " that bothers 

your brain, 
And, the riddle resolved, don't always find 

lurking 



1 Pegasus : The false quantity here mars the verse, but makes 
the parody. 

2 Thanatopsis : Not Bryant's, but a vision in which Death 
appears as "King of Terrors." 



144 LUCILE. 

Ideas perdu, that repay you for working 
So hard to get at them : " Then fling it 

aside," 
I fancy you say. Can't do it: I've tried; 
And, however vexatious the vexation I feel, 
Must read on and learn more of the peerless 

"Lucile!" 



TO A LADY, 

ON RECEIVING FLOWERS. 

In a Match game between "The Crescent Base Ball Club" 
(Seniors), and "The Star Club" (Juveniles), the latter were vic- 
torious. Next morning, one of the waning "Crescents " received 
a beautiful bouquet, with the motto : — 

" 'Tis not in mortals to command success, 
But we'll do more, Sempronius : we'll deserve it." 
" Sempronius," acknowledging this floral compliment, says to the 
fair donor : — 

PHE buds and blossoms thou hast blent 
To form this beautiful bouquet, 
Another hand than thine had sent 
To grace a victor's gala day, 
And die on his triumphal way : 

But thou, amid the wild huzzas 

That mock our " Crescent," on the wane, 

Alone descendest from " the Stars," 

To soothe the vanquished in their pain, 
And bid the fallen rise again ! 



I46 TO A LADY, ON RECEIVING FLOWERS. 

Where, save in odor and in bloom, 

Could sympathy so pure — so sweet — 

Could half thy wish to banish gloom 
From hearts disheartened by defeat, 
Such eloquent expression meet ? 

Above all " Stars " that gem the skies, 
In these sad ihterlunar hours — 

Beyond all else thy gift we prize — 
Dreaming of Eden's blushing bowers, 
And " Love " — half-hidden in the 
flowers ! 



CLOUDS WITH SILVER LININGS. 

M I did not err : there does a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the Night." 

Com us. 

/^LOUDS have silver linings: " 

Thus the poet sings 
To stifle vain repinings 

And silence murmurings ; 
But in the cloud above me 

No " silver " do I see ; 
Now Poet, " an' you love me," 

Prithee ! show it unto me ! 

The words that you have spoken 

Perchance are very true, 
Yet, until the cloud be broken 

And the sunlight peepeth through, 
This thought of " silver linings, " 
But awakens fresh repinings ; 



I48 CLOUDS WITH SILVER LININGS, 

For you must surely see, sir, 
Though truthful you may be, sir, 
That the dark side is for me, sir, 
While the bright side is for you ! 

Even were the lining golden, — 
If it may not be beholden, — 
Pray tell me, Mr. Poet, 
Is it comforting to know it, 
Unless you mean to show it ? 
Your well-meant information 
Gives me no consolation ; 
For the sky is none the brighter 
Nor the cloud a shade the lighter 

Unto me, 
From knowing that behind it — 
If I can ever find it — 

There may be 
A sun that shines forever, 
But which I, alas ! may never 

Chance to see ! 



CLOUDS WITH SILVER LININGS. 1 49 

So dark the cloud that hovers 

In my sky to night, 
I cannot think it covers 

A single gleam of light : 
Now, prove your aphorism, — 

If such, indeed, it be, — 
Dispel my skepticism, 

Or prate no more to me ! 
To drive away each shade of doubt, 
Pray, hunt the dark cloud inside oitt ! 



F 



QUI CAPIT, FACIT. 

AR back, in grand old mediaeval times, — 
Reverted to in these heroic rhymes, — 
King, knight, esquire, or page of low 

degree, 
Imbued from youth with kindliest courtesy, 
Paid woman homage, — sped to her defense 
From real wrong, or fancied insolence : 
And not alone to succor in distress 
Some titled heiress were they swift to press : 
The high-born matron, or the village-girl — 
Dame of a lord, or daughter of a churl, 
Alike secured protection or redress ; 
In troublous times, found trusty champions 

near, 
Nor called in vain for the avenging spear 
Of Knightly Paladin, or courtly Cavalier! 



QUI CAPIT, FACIT. I 5 I 

It was the bounden duty of all PAGES, 

Who lived in those benighted Middle Ages 
(Duty, in which some doubtless so delighted 
They felt no Hotspur hurry to be knighted), 
To wait on ladies — showing such attention, 
'Twere tedious in minute detail to mention : 
To find the gloves or kerchiefs they might 

lose ; 
To hold their fans; remove their rubber- 
shoes ; 
To play the lute; to fetch the smelling 

salts 
Whene'er " My Lady," fainted in the waltz ; 
To carry missalS for the saintly fair, 
As nowadays young gentlemen would bear 
To church and back, a tome of Common 

Prayer, 
Psalter, or Hymn-Book, grateful for the 

smile 
That makes the trouble fully worth the 

while, 
To such as fancy they are " striking He ! " 



I52 QUI CAPIT, FACIT. 

A critic snarls, " There was no waltzing 

then : 
You write with an anachronistic pen ; 
Those ladies too, were never known to 

faint — 
Wore no false hair — were innocent of 

paint 1 " 
Hold! Not so fast! I merely said they 

fainted : 

Where have I ever hinted that they painted ? 

Into the boudoir I have not intruded, 

Nor once to rouge or water-fall alluded : 

As to the waltz, — the license of Romance 

May make a Schottische of a country-dance ! 
• •••••• 

Alas ! " the days of chivalry are o'er ! " 
Like " Good old Grimes," we ne'er shall see 

them more ! 
Our Parlor Knights, our modern Squires 

and Pages, 
Are not like those of Froissart's Middle 

Ages ! 



QUI CAPIT, FACIT. I 53 

Obsequious toadies ! how they fawn upon 
All who in Fashion's gilded circles run, 
Or bask in beams of Fortune's fickle sun : 
Regarding home and home-folk with disgust, 
As links that bind them to plebeian dust, — 
While they would fain be deemed " the 

Upper Crust ! " 
Abroad, in daintiest foppery of dress, 
They out-French Frenchmen, in their poli- 

tesse, 
But deem it courteous to be very curt, — 
Or rather pusillanimously pert, 
Where there s no 'danger of their getting 

hurt ; 
And when the role of Chesterfield don't pay, 
Ceasing the part of " Gentleman " to play, 
They cast its tiresome toggery away ! 



TAKING A SNOOZE. 

" While I nodded, nearly napping." 

The Raven. 

HP HE drowsy hum of the murmuring bees, 

Hovering over the lavender trees, 
Steals through half-shut lattices, — 
As awake or asleep, I scarce know which, 
I lazily loll near a window-niche, 
Whose gossamer curtains are softly stirred 
By the gauzy wings of a humming-bird. 

From airy heights, the feathery down, 
Blown from the nettle's nodding crown, 
Weary with wandering everywhere, 
Sails slowly to earth through the sultry air ; 
• While indolent zephyrs, " oppressed with 

perfume," 
Stolen from many a balmy bloom, 
Are falling asleep within the room. 



TAKING A SNOOZI.. I 55 

Now floating afar, now hovering near, 
Dull to the eye and dumb to the ear, 
Grow the shapes that I see, the sounds 

that I hear; 
Every murmur around dies into my dream, 
Save only the song of a sylvan stream, 
Whose burden, set to a somnolent tune, 
Has lulled the whispering leaves of June. 

All things are hazy, and dreamy, and dim ; 

The flies in lazier circles swim ; 

On slumberous wings, on muffled feet, 

Imaginary sounds retreat ; 

And the clouds — "Elysian isles that lie 

In the bright blue sea of summer sky — 

Fade out, before my closing eye.